Writ in the dream of day, posted after sunset:

The Sun reigns in Dreamland on this ninety-something day as I lay on the crest of a cemetery hilltop stretched out upon a paint tarp listening to an ice cream truck pipe out “It’s a Small World After All” in some populated environ away in the distance.

The 5 mile run I undertook—prior to digging my laptop out here and sipping on a beer—I vocalized again and again at the finish as “just fucking brutal.”  I had actually to reawaken a huge dose of mental toughness (that I had let somewhere along the way slip off sleep) and drive myself mercilessly into anguish in order to complete the last couple of miles.

However, the payoff comes now, afterwards, as I lay in the Sun, slow my metabolism, and cool off as my sweat-drenched t-shirt takes on a light summer breeze.  (It’s true: I brag. Most people I know are blatantly oppressed by the heat that I now find refereshingly cooling.)

Everything is so far from here, so far from here.  Even the Sun—which seems to affect everyone so dramatically on such a blistering summer day—is a star away.  Alas, all that my heart yearns to embrace seems even farther than that “star away.”   Hence, the Sun, even as distant as it is, is surrogate, and remains my guide… day upon day upon day.

The Sun gifts us radiance and heat.  What complaint should we ever have?

If it gifted us not, where would we be?